Devour (Twisted Metamorphosis #1)

Chapter Ten

One Week Ago

“Would you look at that—the gang's back together!” I exclaimed with both hands on my cheeks, looking around my sanctuary dramatically, with wonder in my eyes.

“Wh-what do you…what do you want?” the senator asked, his voice trembling from the cold.

Senator Thomas Scott hung from a hook with his arms above his head and his toes barely touching the cold cement floor. To his right was the unconscious body of his assistant, Grace Kim.

“You’re an educated man. You should have figured it out by now, no?” I said with a grin. All he did was hang his head, beginning to sob as he looked at his son at his feet.

My sanctuary was a completely refrigerated room. Every time Thomas and Grace exhaled, the little clouds that puffed free from their mouths and nostrils let me know they were still breathing. My darkness stood in her usual spot, leaning against a pillar in the middle of the room, next to a switch with three buttons: red, amber, and green.

Taking a brief moment to take a deep breath, I let the chill overtake my body. I was still in this slutty outfit from the bar and needed to get into something more appropriate. I smiled as I lowered another hook about two feet away from the senator’s left side with a button remote on the nearby pillar my darkness was leaning on.

Turning toward a workbench along the wall behind me, I picked up another pair of shackles, closed them around Connor’s wrists, and looped the chain onto the hook. Stepping back to the button on the pillar, I raised the hook, dragging Connor’s pathetic, unconscious body to the same position as his father’s.

“T-Thomas,” the senator’s assistant Grace barely whispered as her head hung forward.

“Grace… It’s okay, it’ll all be okay.” Thomas tried comforting her, as I forced myself to stifle a laugh.

“Would you look at that? Now I have the whole set!” I chuckled, slapping Connor’s cheek to try waking him up.

Connor began to stir, groaning as he regained consciousness. Picking up the trash bag at my feet, I moved toward the back corner of my sanctuary. My high heels echoed in the room as I sauntered toward the Japanese style dressing screen in the back corner, with images of cherry blossoms delicately painted on. Stepping behind the screen, I stripped out of my bar outfit and itchy contacts, stuffing them into the trash bag. I had a small dresser back here with wool socks, insulated pants and thermal tops. While I loved the cold, working down here was rough without proper clothing.

Making quick work of changing my clothes and putting on a pair of work boots, I made sure to place every piece of clothing I wore to the bar in the trash bag. Reaching into the smallest drawer, I reached for a hair tie, pulling my waves back into a messy bun before emerging from behind the screen.

“Ah, much better. Now, where were we?” I asked as Connor lifted his head, opening his eyes.

“What? What the fuck is this?! Dad?”

“Connor,” Thomas groaned.

Standing in front of the three of them, I leaned back on the workbench behind me, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Wait, Lucy? What the fuck? You’re not blonde? What the actual fuck is going on?” Connor tried yanking on his restraints, to no avail.

Turning my back to them, I reached for a pair of trauma shears from the table top of the workbench. As I turned around, I spun them on my pointer finger before grasping them firmly in my palm, pointing them toward Connor.

“You already know why you’re here, you disgusting piece of shit,” I hissed. Opening the shears as far as I could, I pressed the sharp edges on top of Connor’s throat at his Adam's apple. “If only I could just give your neck a quick snip and let you bleed out like the animal you are.” His body trembled in fear, just like I wanted it to.

“Wh-what? What do you mean? What do you want?!” Connor cried as I forced the shears closed with a snap as I pulled away, barely missing his skin. He whimpered, and a wet stain started to form on his jeans near his pathetic dick.

“Ha! Look at that! He pissed himself!” My darkness slapped her knee, laughing her ass off.

“Really? You had to go and piss yourself? Any mess you make here in my sanctuary, you’ll be cleaning up with your tongue. If I let you live that long.” I rolled my eyes and reached under my workbench for a large circular trough and placed it under Connor’s feet. Can’t risk his little tinkle falling to the floor.

Making my way down the line, I pointed my shears at the senator.

“Don’t move. We have things to discuss.” I nudged his shoulder with the tip of the shears, earning a frightened whimper.

Now standing in front of Grace, I lifted her chin with the flat side of the shears.

“Now, now, Grace. You’re not looking well,” I purred, gripping her cheek in my hand, trailing the shears down her cheek. Dried, crusty blood stained her nostril and the bruise around her left eye had it forced shut. “You really need to choose better company,” I hissed, tossing her head to the side.

“Leave… leave her alone,” Thomas groaned.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Senator,” I said, as I pulled out another trough from under the bench, placing it underneath Grace.

Starting at her feet, I pulled off her high heels, and used my trauma shears to cut up one pant leg, working my way up to her top. Letting the fabric fall to the tub, leaving her in her bra and panties, I pointed the shears at the senator again.

“You didn’t leave Tara alone, now did you?” I forced out through clenched teeth, my anger making my hand shake.

“Wh-who is T-Tara?” he asked, shivering.

“Tara Jefferson. Your latest victim,” I said, monotone, turning my attention back to Grace as I cut off her panties. My shears were about to close around the center of her bra, in between the underwire, when Connor stopped me in my tracks.

“I remember her. She was a hot little piece of ass—perfect little cock whore,” he said, his eyes dark and wicked as he thrashed against his restraints. Cutting Grace’s bra and straps, I threw it to the bottom of the trough with her other clothes.

“Let me tell you about that ‘hot little piece of ass,’” I said, turning back toward my workbench, slamming my shears down, and picking up a fresh scalpel.

Turning to face Thomas, I trailed my scalpel down his cheek ever so delicately. He trembled like a coward, trying to pull his arms free from the shackles hanging from the ceiling.

“Tara came from a family of doctors, surgeons, and lawyers. The pressure to follow in her family’s footsteps consumed her. Despite all the pressure, she was a gifted student: straight A's, offered a full ride scholarship to Princeton and Harvard. A parent’s dream, right? But you wouldn’t know, would you?”

I pointed the tip of my scalpel toward Connor, hanging next to his father.

“P-please, let him go. Please,” Thomas begged.

“She used to tell me that the pressure of following in her absent cardiac surgeon father’s and lawyer mother’s footsteps was slowly killing her, eating at her from the inside out,” I continued, ignoring him purposefully. “So, she traded her full ride scholarships for a life on her own here in Virginia. Tara sold her Porsche, traded it in for a ten-year-old Honda Civic and with the money she had left, she was able to secure herself a small, one-bedroom condo.”

“Please,” Thomas cried. Ignoring him still, I circled around the men to their backs, every step from my work boots echoing throughout the refrigerated room. Once behind them, I grabbed a fresh trash bag from a box I had left on the floor.

“I enjoyed our conversations about her latest paintings, you know,” I said, circling back around to the front of them, gathering Grace’s shredded clothing and shoes and placing them in the bag before tossing it to the side. “She channeled all her pain into brilliant works of abstract art. Tara was a gifted artist, much to the disappointment of her family. I proudly hung one of her paintings in my office near my desk as it quickly became one of my favorites that mirrored my soul perfectly—a bloody scalpel slicing into the darkness and freeing the light trapped within.” I smiled, holding my scalpel up toward the light so it would catch and reflect off the sharp edge.

“But now, I’ll have to settle for getting justice for her beautiful soul, taken from this world way too soon by three corrupted, disgusting, selfish scumbags that do not deserve to walk this earth,” I growled through clenched teeth as I came face to face with a weak Grace.

“D-dad,” Connor weakly stammered as his body trembled in the cold.

I turned my head in Connor’s direction, and I felt my darkness overwhelming my mind. Tara's justice would be coming so very soon. With my eyes on Connor, I pulled Grace’s head by her hair so she was looking straight up and sliced her neck open. Gagging and gurgling, I let her bleed out into the trough underneath her feet. Thomas and Connor’s eyes went wide in fear.

“She’ll die here in about forty-five seconds. I recommend saying goodbye.” Turning my back to the two men, with jaws agape, I traded my now bloody scalpel for a sharp hunting knife.

“What the fuck! Dad?” Connor fought against his restraints, but he’d never free himself. Turning to face the men, I stood in front of Connor, his eyes burning with rage.

“Don’t think I forgot about Emelia also,” I said, my rage burning through my body, making my hands shake. “You took her from a good friend of mine; she was his only child. Do you know what it’s like to lose a child, Senator?” Not giving him a chance to reply, I thrusted the knife into his son’s neck until it stuck out the other side, severing his jugular and spraying the senator’s face with his blood. “Now, you know.”

“Connor!” Thomas cried out as Connor gagged and gasped, blood beginning to flow from his neck.

“Oh, don’t worry, Senator. There’s a reason I like it so cold in here, why I have this special refrigerated room. Did you know that cold temperatures cause your blood vessels to constrict? Your heart has to work harder than normal to pump blood through your body in this environment. So, instead of bleeding out in one minute, you’ll get to watch him die for oh… Two minutes?” I held up my hands in a shrug before reaching for the knife and savagely ripping it from his throat.

“C-Connor… No…”

“I’m sorry, Senator. Usually, I like to take my time and make my victims suffer. I don’t like cleaning up a bigger mess than necessary, but oops?”

“Why? Why are you doing this?” He sobbed.

“Because I have to, Senator. A man with your power and wealth can pay off the district attorney, get a free pass. How many times have you paid off the DA to get Connor out of trouble, hmm?” I asked, pointing the knife in his direction.

He hung his head, sobbing.

“That’s what I thought.”

Pulling up a folding chair, I sat in front of the broken Senator and placed my bloody knife on the tabletop next to the scalpel.

“Just… Just kill me already. Enough with this,” he begged.

“Oh, come now, Senator. I can’t do that just yet,” I said sweetly as I crossed my legs elegantly. “We have much to discuss. While, I admit, killing Grace and Connor was personal since they killed my patient, I have a much bigger, much more personal bone to pick with you.”

Thomas didn’t even bother looking at me. He let his head hang as he continued sobbing, mourning his dead, piece of shit son.

“Emelia Jacobs was fifteen years old when she took her own life because of you with her father’s gun. Her FBI father’s gun.” Thomas looked up at me through bloodshot, teary eyes and the recognition of her name made my blood boil. “You held her captive and raped her repeatedly before leaving her naked and blindfolded in an empty field. Did you know that she found out she was pregnant by her attacker? So, either you or that waste of life stole her virginity, got her pregnant, and it was too much for her to bear.”

“I w-warned Connor not… not to make love to her—”

“Make love to her?!” I stood up forcefully, the chair falling over from my sudden movement as I reached for his collared shirt with both hands. “You sick piece of shit. Rape is never love.”

“That sel-selfish bitch k-killed her-herself and my-my grandchild,” he stuttered.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I wanted to kill him right here, right now, but it’s not the time. He had to see what I had planned for his son. I was already too hasty with Grace.

With my left hand gripped onto his shirt, I wound up and threw my right fist into his cheek. My punch landed with a crack. Returning my right hand to his shirt, I gripped hard with both hands, forcing his body toward me.

“You…will…never…hurt…someone…else…again…” Each pause was another hard blow to his face.

When my fist began to hurt, I stopped, tossing him away for me. His head hung and blood was gushing from his nose, soaking his stupid expensive shirt. Looking up in my direction, he struggled to keep his head up. He had a now swollen shut eye and a blood-covered face. I didn’t even care that I didn’t put the trough underneath him. The cleanup would be worth it, seeing him suffer this way.

“So much for doing this the right way,” my darkness said, emotionless, as she stalked up behind the senator. “You’re getting too reckless, Helena. You need to stop this before you end up destroying all our hard work.”

“He got what he deserved.” I turned around and leaned both hands onto my worktable, letting my head hang. “Time to set the scene.”

“Wh-what the fuck? Who… Who the fuck are you t-talking to, you crazy bitch?” the senator managed to stutter.

“Now, Senator. This will get messy.” Turning back to face him, I held my scalpel in my right hand and tilted my head to the side, drawing his eyes to mine.

Walking up to Connor’s lifeless, pathetic body, I studied him. His arms and head were already draining in color, his skin starting to pale and his lips shifting to a blue tint. Circling his hanging body, I hummed in approval.

“Here looks good,” I said straightforwardly, placing my scalpel about one inch below his knee.

“Y-you get away. Get away from my s-son.”

“Oh, but Senator, I need this leg here,” I said viciously as I gripped the leg of Connor’s jeans and dug my scalpel into the denim. Ripping the piece of fabric off and dropping it to the trough, I dragged my scalpel a few inches across Connor’s shin, giving myself a guide. “Yes, this will do perfectly.” Turning back to my work table, I placed my scalpel down on the stainless steel table top and walked over to the pillar where the buttons were that controlled the hooks.

“Oh! How could I forget? Silly me,” I giggled as I walked to the other side of the room and pushed a large, metal table with a frame around all four edges of the tabletop in front of Connor. After locking the four casters with my foot, I returned to the pillar and lifted the hook holding him until he was weightless, and his blood dripped from his feet that had pooled into the trough.

“This would be so much easier if I got the remote for the lift, wouldn’t it? I’m quite off my game tonight, Senator,” I chuckled, shaking my head.

“Well, you’re not wrong there,” my darkness said, picking her nails as she sat on the table top of the workbench, looking bored.

“I’ll fu-fucking kill you,” Thomas groaned before attempting to spit at my feet. He couldn’t get enough air out and bloody saliva just fell from his mouth, dripping pathetically off his chin in thick drips.

Rolling my eyes, I lifted the remote from its holder on the pillar and returned to stand in front of the senator.

“Nice try. But now, Senator, you get to watch me cut your precious son’s leg off. And I plan on taking my time just so you can see every inch of meat I’ll be harvesting for tomorrow’s dinner.

Hanging his head, he sobbed shamelessly as I raised Connor’s body more with the remote. Turning to my workbench again, I pulled off my now dirty exam gloves and tucked them into my trash bag from earlier, replacing them with a fresh, clean pair. Pulling on a vinyl, full body apron, disposable facemask, and a shield to cover my face, I was ready to begin my harvesting, and my little evidence drop for the FBI. I picked up my trauma shears again and turned back toward Connor, stepping in between him and the table.

I made quick work of cutting off his clothing, letting them drop inside the trough into my collection of his blood with a small splash. Guiding his bare legs to the table, I gradually lowered Connor until the lower half of his body was being supported by the table. Lowering the hook even more, I pulled him down by his legs to prevent his upper body from hanging off the edge.

“G-get away… Get away f-from him,” the senator said through shaky breaths.

“Well, it’s a little too late for that now, isn’t it?” I said, as I removed the hook from the chain of Connor’s shackles. “Let’s begin, shall we?” Replacing the trauma shears for my scalpel on the workbench, I found the cut guideline I left on Connor’s leg.

“I hope you’re not squeamish, Senator,” I said as I walked to the end of my workbench, unlocking the casters of the shelving that held my band saw. Pushing it toward the senator, I turned it to face him and relocked the casters.

I needed to adjust Connor’s body to make using the saw easier. Pulling him by the ankles, his body slid down the table, making a wet, dragging noise across the metal. The poor senator flinched at the noise. Once Connor’s legs were bent at the knees and hanging off the table, I knew it was time. Adjusting Connor’s table horizontally with his feet to the saw, I turned back to the senator. His frightened eyes met mine and all I could do was smile.

“And now, the fun part.” I grinned wickedly at Senator Scott as I flipped on the switch for the band saw. I lifted his son's right leg and lined up the guide on his shin to the saw’s blade, pushing his leg toward the saw. It sliced through his skin, tissue, muscle, and bone so smoothly, just like butter. God, it was satisfying.

My hand was steady as I took my time, ensuring my cut was perfectly executed. It was important to me to show my expertise, my precision. Once satisfied with my clean cut, I turned off my band saw, turning to face the senator. Removing my face shield and facemask, I lifted Connor’s now severed leg into both hands, examining my work.

“See how beautiful the human body is, Senator?” He lifted his bloody face to look at me, and I showed him the severed end of his son's leg. “Stunning. With no blood in the body, you can see all the delicious structures inside.”

Thomas heaved and vomited bile down his chest as I held up Connor’s leg and licked from the severed end all the way up his ankle.

“F-fucking sick bitch.”

“Oh, Senator, you don’t know the half of it.”